


Quiet Hours

by verry (tokitovo)



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Uncle/Nephew Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 18:45:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17730611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tokitovo/pseuds/verry
Summary: Aaron should tell him he’s getting too old for this. That most boys his age don’t act like this. That he’s half grown now, and shouldn’t be seeking comfort out like this. That this toes the line between what is acceptable and what isn’t. That this is dangerous territory and Aaron doesn’t know if he has all the right kind of filters in the quiet hours of the morning.Aaron should say all of these things and then some.Instead, Aaron lets out a gentle sigh and lifts the covers.





	Quiet Hours

**Author's Note:**

> soft shit fuck aaron loves him soooo much

Sometimes looking at Miles is tough.

Aaron doesn’t think he’s ever had someone in his life quite so precious to him, but Miles has a way of breaking down every single one of his barriers – building them back up into the shape of some beautiful, fragile thing that Aaron has trouble keeping together on the best of days. Something in the shape of a boy with honey-brown eyes and a smile so bright it carries Aaron through even his darkest moments.

And of those, there are many.

But as bountiful as his hard times are, there are just as many, if not more, spent with the brightest sunflower ever gifted to him.

Miles.

Miles is someone to come home to. Someone to fight for. Someone to remind him that he’s not all bad - that he’s pouring all the good he can find in himself, into Miles. He’s passing on the parts of him that aren’t tainted and bad. The parts of him that want to see Miles grow up into a bright spark of pure creativity and joy.

That parts of him that love Miles like a nephew, like a  _ son _ , and nothing more.

Aaron’s pretty good at lying to himself most days, because most days, it’s not a lie.

He loves Miles more than he loves  _ anything _ .

He loves Miles like he’s always loved Miles, like he’s never known how to do anything else. Loving Miles has never been a challenge. He’s loved the kid since the first time Jeff said, “Rio’s pregnant.” Loved the kid the first time Aaron held him in his arms and he’d stopped screaming, startled either by the new set of arms, the new face – could newborns see? – or the new scent. But he’d fallen silent in Aaron’s arms, let out one, delicate little warble, and fallen into a contented type of quiet that had instilled such an intense feeling of wonder in Aaron that he’d thought, for the first time in going on ten years, that he might begin to cry.

He hadn’t cried though. Had just held his tiny cargo and looked up at Jeff, seen the same wonder reflected right back at him, and  _ known _ . Known that Miles was just as much  _ theirs _ as he was Jeff’s. Just as much Aaron’s responsibility as his brother’s.

Aaron didn’t mind. No. Miles was... Miles gave him purpose again. Miles gave him meaning. He was more than just Aaron, more than Prowler.

He was an uncle, a mentor, a friend.

He was  _ Miles’ _ friend. The kid’s best, in fact.

Jeff taught him all the technical things. How to ride a bike, how to tune a car, how to be a fine, upstanding citizen always on the good side of the law.

But Aaron, well, Aaron got to teach him the fun things. How to tag. How to hop a fence. How to cook jambalaya out of kitchen scraps. How to make your mark and express yourself.

Aaron taught him how to  _ live _ .

Aaron’s life was a dark, organized thing. Compartmentalized and boxed up so he could exist as both Aaron and Prowler. So he could pretend what he was doing didn’t make him a bad person. Just a man wrapped up in something much bigger than himself,a man with a career where innocent people sometimes got hurt.

In a sense, what he and Jeff do isn’t all that different. Two sides of a coin that use to be just one – back when Aaron had a  _ partner _ , back when Jeff wasn’t a father and didn’t care for things like laws and rules. Back before he’d had Miles. Back when he and Aaron were a  _ team. _

But Miles changed all that. Miles changed everything.

Miles changed Jeff – the man who’d showed Aaron the ropes, the brother who’d taught  _ him _ how to tag, taught  _ him _ how to hop a fence, how to be a man, how to  _ survive _ – into a law abiding man who shot down criminals for a living.

They both hunted. They both killed. They both did what they had to do to survive. But Jeff had the law to back him up now. Aaron, well, Aaron’s a creature of habit. And even the birth of Miles hadn’t been able to shake him from his chosen path.

Miles is a bright kid, witty and sharp. Aaron likes to think he takes after himself, but he knows some of it is owed to Rio.

He’s bright, but he’s sheltered. Aaron knows it’s for good reason. Understands, by some unspoken agreement between he and his brother, that they’ll both die before they let Miles touch the underbelly of New York.

Aaron takes a certain pride in what he does. A clinical pride in his ability, but that’s where it stops. It’s hard to be proud of something you can’t share with your most important person. And well, telling Miles would be the end of the easy, wondrous thing they have between them.

And he can’t have that.

Miles is... Miles is  _ everything _ to him.

Miles is the reason he makes it back every night. Sure, he might spend most of his time at his dad’s – but Aaron knew he’d see him soon, always, and that was enough. Weekends are his –  _ theirs – _ and Aaron wouldn’t have it any other way.

The scent of him hangs around sometimes. Aaron is a hunter by trade. He’s got delicate nose, but even if he didn’t, he’s certain he could pick out Miles’ scent in a crowded restaurant on a Friday evening.

It’s soft, like everything about Miles save for his attitude. Flowery and clean and it settles something in Aaron’s chest every time he gets a whiff of it.

He loves when Miles stays the weekend. Not just because Aaron gets him all to himself, holed up in the apartment. No. But because Miles makes a point to roll around in everything he owns, from his bed to his couch to sifting through his laundry basket to see if there’s a new hoodie he can steal, imprinting himself into every inch of Aaron’s apartment.

And Aaron lets him.

Aaron would let him do almost anything to keep that bright smile on his face. The one that makes Aaron’s chest squeeze and his jaw clench with how much he wants to sweep Miles into a hug and never, ever let him go. The one that reminds Aaron that no matter how strongly he feels, no matter how loud the voice in his head might get, he has a duty to protect this boy. And he’ll die before he does anything to jeopardize that.

Aaron always stares at him a beat too long in these moments, and Miles always looks just a touch confused, a small, “Uncle Aaron?” Drifting out of him before Aaron can think to correct the slightly pained expression on his face.

It’s exactly one of those times, apparently, and Aaron shakes his melancholy off like a thick winter coat.

“Yeah, Miles?” Aaron says, moving deeper into his bedroom where Miles has already taken up his nosey habit of going through Aaron’s things.

“You had that look on your face,” Miles says, pausing his rummage through Aaron’s dresser to drift closer to him. They’d been arguing earlier over whether or not Aaron kept a stash of secret things in his dresser under the neatly folded rows of shirts and pants.

Miles doesn’t have to know that Aaron keeps most, if not all of his goodies in the bedside drawer. He’s grown ass man and a bachelor to boot. He ain’t got nothing to hide.

Miles also doesn’t know that Aaron moves all his  _ goodies _ whenever he lets the kid keep the place to himself when Aaron is away. Wouldn’t do to have Miles stumbling on all sorts of things that might get the kid curious.

“What look?” Aaron asks, brow arching.

“You know,” Miles says, gesturing around and making an exaggerated face of sorrow. “That one.”

This time Aaron gives in to the temptation, yanking Miles into his arms and lifting him clear off the ground just as the boy begins to laugh.

“Uncle Aaron!”

Aaron spins him once, then again, and tosses him in a heap onto the bed, where he lands a breathless, giggling little mess.

He looks good like that, Aaron notes, flush high on his cheeks, that trademark grin on his face, luminous and open and looking at Aaron so,  _ so _ , adoringly that –

“You sure, Uncle Aaron?”

That smile’s gone, now replaced with genuine concern as Miles sits up, cross legged and hands folded in his lap. It’s still hard to take him seriously, with the sheets rumpled around him, and the way the shirt he’s wearing falls off his shoulder just slightly.

It’s one of Aaron’s shirts. One of his old Tupac ones that could have sold for a fortune if it was still new. By now, it’s so faded that he could barely make out the peeling deco scattered across the front. It was Miles’ favorite shirt though. Always threw it on after he showered and always,  _ always _ , pouted when it was in the wash.

“I’m good, Miles.”

Aaron isn’t expecting Miles to rock forward and propel himself upwards, springing up just high enough to loop his skinny little arms around Aaron’s neck and pull him right back down.

Aaron’s first instinct is to make sure he doesn’t crush the kid. His hands dart out, one on each side of Miles’ head as they go down, bright peal of laughter drowning out the soft R&B drifting in from the living room.

He can practically hear the grin in Miles’ next words. “Got you! Uncle Aaron you  _ are _ distracted!”

_ By you _ , Aaron thinks impassively, before rolling his eyes at himself and staring down at the most tempting sight in the whole world.

The thing about Miles, despite being the best thing that ever happened to him, is that Aaron is also two hundred percent convinced Miles was designed to test him.

Aaron’s always had a type. No, not boys, and  _ definitely _ not ones as young as Miles.

No. It’s broader than that.

It’s plush lips and smooth brown skin and smiles that could kill. Smiles you would die for. It’s cute noses with little upward curves at the bottom. It’s dimples so deep Aaron could get lost in them. It’s freckles, so light and so many that they’re easy to miss. But Aaron doesn’t miss anything about Miles.

Doesn’t miss the way the freckles get darker in the summer along with the rest of him. The way they trail down past the collar of his shirt and all the way down to his navel. Aaron’s seen Miles shirtless more times than he’s bothered to count. It barely phases him anymore, not unless he lets himself focus. Then, it’s game over.

It’s hard not to focus on Miles right now, when he’s inches away from Aaron, breathless and happy and all of it only for Aaron.

Aaron’s positive in these moments that Miles was set down on this earth  _ specifically _ to test him. There’s just no other explanation for it. No other reason for why Miles looks at him so expectantly sometimes, so  _ hopefully _ . Like the way he is now, gone quiet and still – arms still around Aaron’s neck – just simply staring back up at him.

Aaron knows a lot about himself. Knows his limits and his thresholds. Knows how much of Miles he can handle before his body starts acting up and his mind starts feeling all hazy and erratic. Knows that he’s in a dangerous spot the longer he sits there, arms framing Miles’ face, caging him in as his boy looks up at him imploringly.

_ What do you want? _ Aaron doesn’t expect an answer, not when he hadn’t even uttered the words, but he sees something in Miles’ eyes trying to speak anyway.

Finally, when Aaron’s stared too long and Miles’ blush is darkening at an alarming rate, Miles murmurs, “Uncle Aaron?” and that’s what finally shakes him out of it.

He cracks a smile, a lopsided thing that washes a little of the confusion off Miles’ face.

“Nothin’ Miles, nothin’.”

Aaron pulls himself away, listens to Miles’ arms thud back down onto the mattress. Aaron wants to keep staring at him, drink his fill of Miles until he goes cross eyed. Until he can’t see anything else.

But he forces himself away, shakes the feeling out with a turn of his head. No use getting caught up right now. They’ve still got a movie to watch, popcorn to pop, and Aaron will take a cozy evening with Miles glued to his side over lamenting what he cannot have.

* * *

 

Aaron’s not a light sleeper by any means, but he’s an alert one. He sleeps deeply and he sleeps well, but he’s awake the moment something sounds out of the ordinary.

Tonight is one of those nights.

The creak of his bedroom door is what wakes him, and Aaron has half a moment where he’s on high alert, until he remembers that Miles is sleeping over. There’s a figure at his door, illuminated by the bright city lights streaming through the window.He’s started taking the couch more often than not, seemingly past the age where he’s eager to climb into bed with his uncle. Aaron thinks it’s probably for the best, considering the amount of slip ups he’s almost had in the early mornings with a warm body pressed up against his. 

The shadow at his door finally lets out a timid, “Uncle Aaron?”

“Yeah Miles?” Aaron is quick to respond, hoping the tone of his voice will welcome Miles in from his perch at the doorway. In the neon light, Aaron watches as Miles bites his lip, shifting around nervously. First one foot, and then the other.

It’s cute, would be cuter if it wasn’t two in the morning, according to Aaron’s bedside clock, but beggars can’t be choosers. And beggars definitely can’t complain when miles says: 

“I, uhm, I had a nightmare. Can… Can I sleep with you?”

Aaron should tell him he’s getting too old for this. That most boys his age don’t act like this. That he’s half grown now, and shouldn’t be seeking comfort out like this. That this toes the line between what is acceptable and what isn’t. That this is dangerous territory and Aaron doesn’t know if he has all the right kind of filters in the quiet hours of the morning. 

Aaron should say all of these things and then some.

Instead, Aaron lets out a gentle sigh and lifts the covers. 

“Hog the blankets and I’m kicking you out.”

Miles never hogs the blankets, and Aaron never kicks him out. He doesn’t need blankets when he clings to Aaron like moss, using him as his central heat source the moment he wiggles under the sheets.

Aaron pauses to listen, hears the muffled sounds of New York just beyond his window. The steady rush of cars, the frequent honks. A woman, distantly yelling about her lying, cheat of a husband.

All that all seems so far away from now, from here, where he’s got Miles settled comfortably against him like he belongs there. Fitting into every nook and cranny of Aaron’s life like he was meant to be there. Like he was made to fill in all the spaces where Aaron is not. 

It’s easy to tune the noise out when Miles’ makes that low snuffling sound that means he’s settling in and relaxing, finding just the right niche for himself against Aaron’s body.

“Thanks uncle Aaron” Miles says, letting out a soft little purr as Aaron’s hand settles on his lower back and draws him closer – as if leaving any space between them would be a crime. It feels like it would be, and the way Miles molds against his front suggests that he feels the same. 

This close, Aaron can feel Miles’ heart beating, an uneven staccato that makes Aaron wonder if he’s still scared, if the remnants of his nightmare are still hanging over him like a thin film of fear, unshakable even tangled up with his protector. 

Aaron rubs his hand up Miles back, unthinking as he slides it back down and under the hem of Miles’ shirt, hand hot and heavy against the overheated skin. Miles makes a tiny noise, barely audible, shivers and presses closer. 

His heartbeat doesn’t slow. 

“It’s okay Miles,” Aaron murmurs, hoping to instill some comfort with his confidence. That’s why he’s here. To comfort, to reassure, to let his boy know that there’s nothing to fear while he’s with Aaron. “I got you. Ain’t nothin’ to be scared of here.”

“M’not s – scared” Miles’ says, breath hitching on the last word as Aaron scratches his fingers lightly down his spine. Aaron’s pretty sure he’s lying, with the way the kid’s heart is beating rabbit-quick, but he’ll let Miles have this. It’s important to make him feel like he knows himself, even when Aaron knows Miles like the back of his hand. 

He listens as Miles breathes, a slow steady thing that grows more and more uneven the longer Aaron continues his motions.

“Can’t sleep with you doin’ that,” Miles mutters eventually, punctuating his words with an arch of his back. Aaron’s hand stills automatically, wondering at the tremor he detects under Miles’ grumpy words. 

Aaron chuckles a little, but begins to withdraw his hand. He’s stopped when Miles shifts, and lightning quick, wraps delicate fingers around his wrist before he can fully slide his hand out from under Miles’ shirt. 

“Stay there,” he whispers, the tremor in his voice growing. “Just stop moving.”

It’s not quite a beg, but it’s close. Aaron feels a little out of his element for the first time in a long time. He’s unsure, now, if what he’d interpreted as fear really had been just that. Wonders at the way Miles’ voice had shook and the way his hand still shakes where he’s gripping Aaron’s. 

“Okay” Aaron says, because he’s not sure what else he can say. He lets his palm settle on the small of Miles’ back, and eventually after a beat passes, then two, Miles returns his grip to the front of Aaron’s shirt, curling into the fabric possessively and burying his face into the crook of Aaron’s armpit while sighing happily.

Aaron feels... he’s not sure. Whole is one word for it, sure. But he feels off somehow too, like there’s something he’s missing. The more he thinks about it, the further out of his grasp it slips.

He decides it’s one of those things better left alone. It’ll come to him on it’s own terms. Aaron is a patient man, he can wait for revelations to present themselves. This one doesn’t seem all bad, and as the rise and fall of Miles’ chest slowly begins to even out, Aaron thinks that whatever it is, can’t possibly be more important than what he’s got right here in his arms. 

* * *

 

The next morning, over a breakfast of eggs and toast and turkey bacon, (which Aaron can tell Miles now loves passionately, but will probably die before he admits it) Aaron brings it up.

“What got you all scared last night?”

Miles startles, fork half raised to his mouth as the egg he’d speared falls off and lands with a dull splat on his plate. 

“Huh?”

“Last night,” Aaron starts, quirking a smile at the dumbfounded expression on Miles’ face. “Your dream. Seemed pretty freaked.”

“Oh.” Miles’ face heats visibly, skin darkening with his blush and freckles standing out more than ever. “Wasn’t no big deal, just... stuff.” Miles punctuates this by spearing a piece of bacon and shoving the entire thing into his mouth. He sounds embarrassed and shameful and Aaron doesn’t get that. 

Aaron stares at him, thinking it strange that there’s a part of Miles’ subconscious that the boy doesn’t feel comfortable sharing with him. Aaron’s always been his closest confidant, so it worries him that Miles should choose to keep something as simple as a nightmare. 

“Miles,” Aaron tries again, but this time Miles doesn’t look up to meet his gaze. He stares determinedly at the plate of food in front of him.

“What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me,” Aaron says, less than impressed by the attitude Miles is developing when faced with something he doesn’t want to deal with. “I’m giving you the chance to get shit off your chest.”

He gets no response, and Miles’ scrapes his fork noisily against the porcelain, muttering something under his breath that Aaron doesn’t catch.  

“ _ Miles _ .”

“You  _ died! _ ” Miles bursts out, the force of it causing Aaron to recoil from where he’d unknowingly hunched over the table, trying to bridge some imagined gap between them.

“You died and I couldn’t do anything to stop it! I – I think it was my  _ fault _ . It felt so  _ real _ , Uncle Aaron, I saw it happen. It’s like – it was like it  _ did _ happen.”

There are tears gathering in Miles’ wide brown eyes. He’s looking up now, almost defensive, like he’s waiting for Aaron to laugh in his face and call him stupid for getting so worked up over a dream.

Except Aaron doesn’t. He thinks to his own subconscious. The dreams that involve his hands around Miles’ ankle, yanking him down a flight of stairs. The ones that end with his own fingers wrapped around his baby boy’s neck as he begs, almost silent and only ever Aaron’s name.

He thinks of waking up in a cold sweat, shivering and trying to shake the images out of his head, cursing at himself for inventing something so horrible in the recesses of his own mind.

He thinks of the fear he’d seen in Miles’ gaze, the same fear he sees there now, but not of him this time. It’s the fear of loss and desperation. Fear that something horrible could happen to them both at any given moment, ripping them apart cruelly like two fractured halves of a whole.

Aaron knows that fear. Ruminates on it every time he puts on his suit and becomes somebody else, somebody Miles wouldn’t be proud of. He understands the shame now, feels it in himself when he wakes up trying to parse through horrible images that he hates himself for conjuring up. 

Aaron gets up, hating that it took him so long, and he’s over to Miles’ side in a heartbeat. He squats down, gaze so intense that it forces Miles’ to meet his.

“Only a dream,” Aaron says, because it’s all he  _ can _ say. He can’t voice his own terror. Can’t give shape to the tenuous, shaky territory of Miles’ dreams by relating with some of his own. “I’m right here, aren’t I?”

Aaron wants to reach out and touch him, remind Miles of the reality crouched right there in front of him. But Miles still looks spooked, like anything and everything might startle him right out of his chair and out the door.

“It was just a dream.” Aaron says again.

“Just a dream,” Miles echoes, more like he’s trying to convince himself. His brow is furrowed, as if the very memory of it troubles him. Aaron can’t hold himself back from reaching out anymore, smoothing at the crease with his thumb and then moving the broad sweep of his palm to cup Miles’ face.

He tilts it up, and Miles is looking at him with that face, the confused flustered one that Aaron’s having trouble pinning properly.

Aaron’s done pressing for now. Miles looks just about ready to bolt, and the last thing Aaron wants to do is drive Miles away from him.

He’ll talk more when he’s ready, Aaron supposes.

“Wanna slap a few stickers up and drive out to the Public Gardens? You can bring your sketchbook.” Aaron suggests, offering Miles a slightly apologetic smile and standing, still holding the boy’s face.

Miles lights up again, open and warm and Aaron thinks, not for the first time, of how badly he wants to press his lips against Miles’ and give him something to really smile about.

Except it won’t make him smile.

It’ll confuse him at best, terrify and disgust at worst. It’ll rip Aaron out of his life in a manner worse than death.

Aaron can’t afford to sacrifice what they have.

But it’s hard, sometimes. Like now, when Miles’ shifts, resting the weight of his head against Aaron’s palm and acting, for all the world, like there isn’t any other place he’d rather be. Aaron thinks it would take so little to hold Miles there as he bends down, kissing him soft and sweet and –

“That’d be nice,” Miles mumbles, and Aaron can feel the sound of his voice travelling all the way up his arm and straight to his heart.

It  _ will _ be nice. It’ll be nice to see Miles’ surrounded by flowers and greenery, laughing and taking pictures and pausing to sit on a bench and draw.  He’ll sit there cross legged, with his tongue poking out, hunched over his sketchbook and lost in his own little world.

And Aaron will watch him and think, for now, this is enough.

 

**Author's Note:**

> let me know if it made u all soft and gooey heh heh


End file.
